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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241810">Make It Better</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27'>DoubleL27</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Belly Rubs, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, Husbands, M/M, Marriage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Stomach Ache, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, accidental stuffing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:06:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick cannot sleep due to the very restless person not-asleep next to him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>149</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Make It Better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightstreet/gifts">midnightstreet</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>⭐ <em>One of them eats too much candy and needs his tummy rubbed</em> 😢 ⭐</p><p>I couldn’t let this beautiful prompt just sail by. Took me a few days though. Hope it’s everything you wanted!</p><p>All overindulgence is accidental. No one was actually harmed and I love h/c. Surprised I haven’t written more.</p><p>Unbeta’d - all mistakes are mine. Needed a quick post.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rustling of sheets was just a hair too loud to be considered white noise. That it was partnered with his husband restlessly changing position every few seconds while huffing loudly had guaranteed that neither of them were sleeping. As the person who had to get up to open the store in the morning. </p><p>“David, stop!” Patrick pleaded, reaching out a hand to rest on David’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>David stilled, groaned and then shifted. His body contorted, arching slightly. “I can’t get—<em>nngh—</em>comfortable. I think—“</p><p>David tried to swallow what sounded like a moan. His face had crumpled into a deep wince. He shifted again, knees drawing up.</p><p>Leaning up on an elbow, Patrick reached out and carded his fingers though David’s nearly-dry curls. “Does this have anything to do with inhaling an entire Nestlé minis box?” </p><p>David opens one eye slowly, face still etched with pain. “Maybe.” A particularly loud squelching sound followed by what sounds like a whale sound emits from David’s stomach. His eye closes. <em>”Fuck.”</em>  </p><p>David curls onto his side, rounding out his back, arms coming to hold his belly. His head does shift so he can press further into Patrick’s hand like a cat. Taking the signal, Patrick scratches David’s head more. That earns him a whine mixed with a purr. </p><p>“I don’t know why you bought so much candy,” Patrick muses, baffled affection mixing with slight frustration. “We’re on a busy road, there’s no sidewalk, and the houses out here are half a kilometer apart.”</p><p>“They were buy-one get-one at Brebners,” David grumbles over the sound of the whales in his belly. </p><p>“You had <em>six</em> for the store,” Patrick points out.</p><p>“Mm...,” David shifts closer and Patrick keeps stroking his fingers across David’s scalp. “And two for me and two for Stevie.”</p><p>“And why not one for me?”</p><p>“You <em>even</em> don’t like chocolate like that.” Patrick is about to argue the point that overindulgence is a bad idea when David moans again. He settles for just scratching his husbands head. “I think I am dying.”</p><p>“I think you’ll live.”</p><p>“But what if I die?” David asks, looking up at Patrick pitifully through his long eyelashes. </p><p>“David,” Patrick tries. </p><p>He’s quickly cut off by his husband. “I haven’t even told you where to find the funeral binder.”</p><p>Patrick blinks, his hand pausing the stroking as he frowns at that. “I unpacked it when we moved in. It’s in my office. I should tell you that I don’t think I am prepared to purchase a family mausoleum at this point.”</p><p>“It hurrrrts,” David whines, managing to make the last word nearly four syllables. </p><p>How someone who is so entirely capable of saving his sister from mobsters can manage to act like such a baby over minor things like stomachaches and unwieldy boxes, Patrick doesn’t know. He is also unsure of why he finds the duality of David’s capable and dependent sides so attractive. Something in the back of his brain pokes at the mutual caretaking.  </p><p>Patrick rolls over into a seated position. He opens his legs wide, patting the space in between. “Come here, let me rub it for you.”</p><p>David crawls into the space before rolling over and flopping against Patrick’s chest. There’s something lovely about the weight of his husband on top of him, even if this isn’t the ideal scenario. David’s head falls so that his face can turn directly into Patrick’s neck. Now all of David’s little moans and groans are being reverberated into Patrick’s neck.  </p><p>Patrick uses one hand to shift David’s striped nightshirt up. The other hand travels down to begin the rubbing. Patrick starts with slow, gentle circles, carefully making patterns that quickly fade in David’s tummy hairs. From the cursory rounds, Patrick can tell David is only slightly bloated. He adds a little more pressure to his rub when David doesn’t protest. </p><p>David’s digestive system continues to complain, the squelching squealing whale noises migrate as Patrick continues to tend to David. At one point he is chasing a gas pocket when David stiffens and yelps.</p><p>“Sorry,” Patrick says, freezing in place. </p><p>David’s head rolls on Patrick’s shoulder so he’s facing the ceiling and his feet seek purchase on the bed. “Mmmm. Cramping.”</p><p>Patrick’s brows draw together and down but his fingers start lightly carding through the hairs of David’s stomach. “I can stop.”</p><p>“No...I...Uh...” A burp escapes David’s lips and his hands come up to cover his face. His head falls back to be pressed against Patrick’s neck. David’s voice is muffled but Patrick can make out, “Oh my God. You can divorce me over this. I won’t argue.”</p><p>“Over what?”</p><p>“Over practically burping in your face,” David clarifies loudly, his hands slipping away so now the only thing muffling David’s voice is Patrick’s neck. “I am very gross right now and I don’t think I ever want you to see me again.”</p><p>“David, we go through this at least once a week. I will not be divorcing you over any bodily functions,” Patrick reminds David. It’s almost a joke between them now, an expected bit of the performance of David’s minor discomforts, almost. David may believe that Patrick won’t leave, but Patrick still cannot seem to find humor in the fact that so many people had discarded this wonderful man for less. And so often that his husband likes to jokingly check. </p><p>David whimpers again and Patrick gives his tummy another scratch. “So was the no because you didn’t want me to stop...”</p><p>“Keep going please. You make it better.”</p><p>His hand returns to palm David’s belly. He rubs against an abdomen that is more toned than David will ever actually see on himself. David’s moans and whispers give way to happier groans as the whale songs in his stomach fade into the distance. Patrick is still tending to David when his husband is clearly comfortable enough to fall asleep, his breathing evening out. Patrick stays for more minutes than he would ever admit out loud, continuing to rub circles over David’s skin and feel the weight of his husband breathing in and out just slightly out of synch with Patrick’s own.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Is the title both a Beatles song, a quote from Schitt’s Creek, and a quote in the fic? It’s more likely than you think! </p><p>Comments, kudos and reach outs always appreciated.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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